The Virgin's Choice (2 page)

With a choked gasp, Rose looked at the madman beside her, the dark stranger who’d just stolen her away from everyone she loved. “You kidnapped me,” she whispered. “From my own wedding reception.”

The man stared back at her with dead eyes. His jaw clenched.

She moved away from him to the edge of her seat, her body pressing against the far door, her white tulle
skirts spread all around her. “What do you want with me? Why have you taken me?”

The man’s lips curved into a sinister smile as he leaned against the seat. His dark eyes bored into her soul with malevolence and dislike.

Then he reached for her. For a single moment she thought he meant to strike her, so she flinched, closing her eyes. Instead, she felt the tiara and veil ripped from her hair.

Her eyes flew open and she saw his window rolling down as he gripped her diamond tiara and the white gauzy veil in one hand.

“What are you doing?” she gasped.

He didn’t reply. He just flung the tiara and veil out onto the road. The window slid noiselessly back up.

Rose stared out the back window. For an instant, she saw the diamonds sparkle and ghostly white veil wave across the snow behind them like a flag of surrender in a sliver of moonlight.

Then the SUV turned a corner, and it was gone.

Rose turned back, shaking in new fury. “How dare you?”

“It was a fake,” the man replied coldly.

“It’s a priceless heirloom. It has belonged to my husband’s family for generations—”

“Fake,”
he cut her off. He turned away, adding in a low voice, “As fake as your so-called marriage.”

“What?” she whispered.

“You heard me.”

“You’re mad.”

For a moment she thought he wouldn’t answer that,
either. Then his jaw twitched. “You know your marriage is fake. Just as you know who I am.”

“I don’t!”

“My name is Xerxes Novros,” he bit out, watching her.

Xerxes Novros.

She’d heard Lars shouting out the name in a rage in a Swedish diatribe to his assistants and bodyguards. Now her husband’s apparent enemy had kidnapped her.

Xerxes Novros.

Rose suddenly couldn’t breathe. That name meant this wasn’t a mistake. This wasn’t a dream. She’d been kidnapped by her husband’s enemy. And from what she’d seen, he was a remorseless, vicious villain with a heart of ice.

“What are you going to do with me?” she whispered.

Xerxes gave her a chilling smile. “Nothing. Absolutely nothing.”

She didn’t believe him for an instant. She had to get out of here, before he tossed
her
out the window next! She grabbed at her door handle, but it was locked.

Grimly, he shackled her wrists with his hands, pushing her back against the seat, his body crushing hers. “You cannot escape.”

“Help!” she screamed, though she knew it was hopeless. “Somebody help me!”

“No help is coming for you, Rose Linden.” He looked down at her with hatred in his black eyes. “You…are
mine.
”

H
E HADN’T
expected her to be so beautiful.

As the SUV flew down the road through the snowy night, Xerxes Novros stared down at the petite blonde beneath him, her slender wrists shackled in his hands. The instant she’d tried to escape, he’d instinctively covered her with his body, pressing her into the soft leather of the backseat.

Xerxes could hear the soft pleading pant of her breath, smell the scent of fresh linen and tea roses that clung to her skin. Her every gasp lifted her full breasts higher above the tightly corseted satin bodice, until he thought the fabric could not contain her for much longer.

His body tightened, and he forced himself to look away.

He wasn’t supposed to want Rose Linden. Despise her, yes. Use her? Certainly.

So how to explain this sudden rush of desire?

Xerxes generally had one requirement before he bedded a woman: he had to want her. That was it. He had no interest in learning about her character, her so-called
soul.
What would be the purpose of such an exercise? He’d be done with her by morning.

It wasn’t as if his mistresses were innocent virgins.
They could take care of themselves. They had agendas of their own, usually lusting for his body, his money, his power or all three. Anyone could be bought, he knew. Everyone had a price.

But wanting
this
particular woman was a new low, even for him. Rose Linden was amoral and mercenary, devious and ruthless and cunning. He’d known that, but somehow, he hadn’t expected her to be so beautiful. Now, he could almost understand why Lars Växborg had risked so much to take her as his pretend wife.

Any man would want to possess a woman like this.

She looked up at him, still panting, her eyes flashing. Her honey-blond hair had tumbled loose from the elegantly smooth chignon when he’d ripped the tiara off her head. Long blond tendrils now fell against her heart-shaped face, against skin like cream, smooth and fine with bright roses in her cheeks. Her eyes were the vivid turquoise of the Aegean, edged with thick black lashes. Her lips were full and pink and parted—her face flushed with passion and fury.

She looked, Xerxes thought, like a woman who’d just made love in the heat of explosive fire.

He wanted her.
And that made him angry.

She must be luring him deliberately, he thought, teasing him like a coquette. Turning her feminine charms on him in hopes of evading punishment, in hope of winning his heart to her side.

Too bad for her that he had no heart.

His men had been watching Trollshelm Castle for days, since Xerxes had first heard about this so-called
wedding.
Xerxes had planned to kidnap the baron, and make him reveal Laetitia’s location by force. But Lars
Växborg was too cagey for that. He’d never come out of his castle alone.

Xerxes couldn’t wait any longer. After a year, he was no longer sure of Laetitia’s condition. She could be dying. In desperation, he had nearly stormed into the castle with all his men, guns blazing, even knowing it could only end in disaster.

Then he’d seen the man’s new bride leave the castle in the dark, moonlit garden. When Xerxes saw her illuminated by the eerie northern lights, he’d known it for the miracle it was. And he’d seized the opportunity.

Xerxes knew all about Rose Linden, the American waitress who squandered Laetitia’s fortune on jewels and furs and designer clothes. The little gold digger had just lied her way through the most sacred vows of a marriage ceremony in order to become a rich baroness in the eyes of the world. Rather than escape her poverty through hard work, she had lied for it.

That was all Xerxes needed to know. He felt no pity. He felt nothing for her except scorn and cold anger.

Except that was no longer true. He now also felt lust.

Holding her down in the backseat of his Rolls-Royce, as he gripped her wrists in his hands and heard the pant of her breath, he hated her.
And he desired her.

“You won’t get away with this,” she gasped.

“No?” He had to force himself to stay focused only on her eyes and not on her breasts, which were rising and falling rapidly with every breath. He gritted his teeth, focusing his gaze only on her face by an act of pure will.

“My husband will—”

“You have no husband.”

“Oh, my God,” she whimpered, growing still with shock and horror. “What have you done?”

“You know what I mean,” he said grimly.

Her face grew white, her body absolutely motionless.

“Did you—did you hurt him?”

He’d been tempted to do just that, as recently as an hour ago; but killing Växborg, while personally satisfying, would have had negative repercussions. Xerxes could hardly take care of Laetitia from a jail cell. Especially since he could tell no one about their connection after he’d given his word.

“Take me back,” Rose Linden whispered. “And I—I promise I’ll never tell anyone what you did. I promise!”

“You
promise
?” he said scornfully. “We both know your
promise
is worthless.”

“How can you say that?” Her voice trembled, choked with tears. “You don’t even know me!”

Manufactured tears, he told himself, created by a cunning little actress. “I know enough,” he replied harshly. “And now you and your lover will both pay—”

But at that, she began to struggle wildly, kicking at him with her high-heeled shoes. Her wide skirts flew over the backseat in waves of white lace and tulle. The driver in front nearly spun off the road as her knee hit the back of the seat. She kicked the window so hard that Xerxes had to grab her ankle to keep her from breaking the glass.

“Stop!” he commanded, using his body to compel her to obey. But to his amazement, though she was so much
smaller, even though she had no chance of winning, she continued to fight.

“You bastard! You coward! You criminal!” she panted. “My husband will find you. He’ll stop you. You’ll never get away with this!”

All of her struggling only increased his desire for her. As she writhed beneath him, and he saw the spark of furious challenge in her eyes, the intensity of his need hit him like a wave. But why did she fight him, when it had to be clear that she had no chance of winning—that she’d already lost?

“Be still!” he demanded.

She stopped struggling, staring at him with dark rage, glaring her hatred and defiance. But it sparked a response in him that was even worse than lust. It was the last thing he wanted to feel for her.

A grudging respect.

As the convoy slowed down, he abruptly released her. Ahead in the moonlight, his largest jet was waiting for them on a deserted landing strip. Amid the whirl of softly shimmering snowflakes lifted from the ground by the wind, the runway had been swept clear of snow and looked like a black river, as dark as the sky above.

When Rose saw the jet, her whole body sagged with sudden despair. The SUV stopped, and she turned to him. A single tear streamed slowly down her cheek.

“Don’t do this,” she whispered. “Please…whatever quarrel you have with Lars, don’t force me on that plane. Please, whoever you are—let me go back to the people I love!”

Love.
As if this venal woman knew anything about love!

“Let me go back to my husband,” she continued tearfully.

Xerxes’s lip curled. “I told you. You have no husband.”

She gasped, looking terrified.

He stared back at her as the driver opened his door. She knew perfectly well what he meant. It was an act. It had to be!

“I’m begging you,” she whimpered, her blue eyes luminous with the light of unshed tears. “Don’t hurt him!”

Roughly, he grabbed her arm.

“And the reason you have no husband,” he bit out, “is because Lars Växborg already has a wife.”

R
OSE
went numb with shock. As Xerxes pulled her from the SUV, leading her across the dark tarmac to the waiting plane, she did not resist.

“But he can’t have a wife,” she said numbly, looking up at him with bewildered confusion. “I’m Lars’s wife!”

“The wedding was fake,” he said coldly. “The vows were fake. The minister was fake. And most of all, Miss Linden—” he glanced down at her with glittering dark eyes as they reached the bottom of the steps “—
you
are fake.”

He pushed her up the stairs into the cabin of the plane, where they were greeted by two flight attendants, the captain and the copilot. Bodyguards poured in behind them before they disappeared into the back of the jet.

The captain gave Xerxes a respectful nod. “We are ready for takeoff at your order, sir.”

A brunette flight attendant took Xerxes’s coat, while the other one, a redhead, greeted him with a silver tray holding drinks. Rose heard the cabin door close behind her with a loud bang.

“Thank you.” Taking a flute of champagne from the tray, Xerxes sat down on a white leather seat in the
front cabin of the jet. He turned carelessly back to Rose. “Champagne, Miss Linden? No?”

When Rose just stared at him in shock without replying, Xerxes gave a small, private smile and nodded at the captain. “You may proceed.”

The captain and copilot disappeared to the front of the cabin to complete their takeoff preparations, and the flight attendants left for the back of the plane. Alone with Rose in the front cabin, Xerxes stretched out his arm on the back of the white leather seat. As he took a sip of his champagne, he seemed relaxed.
Contented.

Rose stared at the crystal flute in that large, rough hand. Just an hour ago, she herself had been sipping champagne in the gilded ballroom of her husband’s castle at her gorgeous wedding reception. Lars had looked up and smiled at her across the crowd.

Was it possible it had all been a lie?

A crack of pain went through her heart. No. It couldn’t be true. Couldn’t!

“You’re wrong about Lars,” Rose choked out. “He wouldn’t have done this awful thing you’re accusing him of—”

“Bigamy.”

She flinched. “Don’t use that horrible word!”

“You’re right,” he said coolly, finishing off his flute of champagne and setting it down. “It wasn’t bigamy, because his wedding to you was a sham from start to finish.”

“You’re wrong!”

“Did you ever sign any paperwork?”

Rose sucked in her breath as she realized for the first
time that she’d never signed any papers. No marriage license. No forms.
Nothing.

He watched her. “Växborg hasn’t visited Sweden for years. None of his friends here know about his first marriage. But the minister who conducted your ceremony was an out-of-work actor from Stockholm.”

“No,” she said automatically. But she remembered how the minister had been strangely young and handsome. She’d been so nervous, almost sick, as she stood in the ruined shell of the ancient stone church and waited to speak her vows. She’d shrugged off the minister’s soap-opera-star good looks, deciding all Swedish men must be as blond and handsome as Lars. But was it possible that what Xerxes Novros was telling her held some shred of truth…?

No! Rose shook her head fiercely. “Lars wouldn’t have pursued me if he were already married. He wouldn’t have even noticed me pouring his coffee in San Francisco!”

“He wouldn’t?”

“No! He wouldn’t! Marriage lasts forever. It is the friendship and passion that lasts your whole life. Loyalty and love are the foundation of everything!”

He stared at her sardonically. “And where did you hear that, princess?”

“I didn’t have to
hear
it from anyone,” she snapped. “My parents have been married for nearly forty years. My grandparents were married for sixty before my granddad died. All my brothers and sisters are married except for one. All married. Happily. Forever.”

Xerxes looked at her for a long time, then pressed the intercom. When the flight attendant came through the
door, he turned to her, pushing the empty champagne flute back into her hands. His voice was almost surly as he said, “Scotch. Rocks.”

As she left, Xerxes turned back to Rose. “I can see marriage means a great deal to you.” He gave a hard look at the ostentatious diamond on her left hand. “So much that you didn’t mind speaking a few false vows in order to get your hands on
that.
”

He thought she cared about this huge diamond ring? She clasped her hands together tightly. Rose didn’t care about jewelry, only what it symbolized! “You think I would have let Lars even flirt with me if I’d thought he was married? Never!”

“Everything is for sale in this world. Everyone has a price. And clearly—” he looked with scorn from her ring to her designer wedding gown “—that was yours.”

“The lace was hand-stitched by nuns in France,”
Lars had told her proudly when he’d presented it to her. He’d laughed at Rose’s desire to wear her mother’s simple 1960s-era wedding gown to a simple ceremony in her California hometown.
“I will plan everything, petal. All you will need to do is be beautiful—and be ready for our honeymoon!”

Shaking the memory from her mind, Rose took a steadying breath.

“You’re wrong,” she said. “Either you’ve made a mistake, or…or…”

Or you’re lying,
she wanted to say, but didn’t have the courage, faced with his wrathful gaze.

Rising to his feet, her captor crossed two steps to her. His eyes were like black fire. He towered over her,

and she had to force herself not to cower, but to stand straight and tall, to stand her ground.

“Växborg has no money of his own. His money comes from his wife’s inheritance, from her wealthy mother.” His lips twisted as he scornfully touched the exquisite lace of her sleeve. “That’s her money you’re wearing on your back right now.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Keep on telling yourself that, princess.”

“If any of this were true, if he were as bad as you say, why wouldn’t his wife just divorce him?”

Xerxes looked away, his jaw clenching. “She can’t.”

“Why?”

Narrowing his eyes, he looked at her. “They were in an accident. She’s in a coma. Not that you would care.”

His tone made it clear he thought Rose was a greedy, heartless brat. She—who’d worked two jobs to pay her own way through college, to help her parents survive since the family business went bankrupt!

Rose blinked fast. At that moment, the engine grew louder as the jet started to move down the runway. She nearly stumbled as it jolted forward.

“Sit down,” he said.

Ignoring the lump in her throat, she braced her arm against the ceiling and lifted her chin. “Don’t you dare tell me—”

“Sit down,” he barked.

Her knees failed beneath her and she fell onto the white leather couch with a
whomp.
She realized to her
shock that her body had obeyed him, even when her mind had refused.

The plane accelerated down the runway as he sat beside her. She gripped the armrest. He calmly reached for his laptop.

Once they were airborne, Rose glanced out the tiny window. All she could see was endless darkness with eerie moonlit clouds.

No one could help her now. She was on her own. She took several deep breaths, trying to keep herself from panicking. “Where are you taking me?”

He didn’t answer. He stared at the screen on his laptop and typed rapidly, then took a sip of the Scotch that the smiling stewardess brought him on a tray. Rose waited until they were left alone again before she spoke.

“Where are you taking me?” she repeated more forcefully.

“It’s irrelevant.”

“Tell me where.”

“I hardly think you’re in a position to make demands.”

“You kidnapped me!”

“Such a melodramatic word.”

“How else would you describe it?”

“Justice,” he said coldly.

“You don’t have my passport.”

“That’s all been arranged.”

“How?”

He shrugged. “As everything else is. For a price.”

Watching beads of water condense on the outside of his glass tumbler, she clenched her hands into fists.
“Tell me where we’re going
right now,
” she raged. “Or else…or else…”

He looked at her, his dark eyes amused. “Or else?”

Oh, how she wished she had her brother’s old baseball bat, or even a heavy handbag to threaten him with! She tried to look very mean as she thundered, “You will tell me where we’re going or I will make this flight your own private hell!”

Xerxes stared at her for a long instant. “Now that I believe,” he said mildly as his lips quirked. Typing a few last words on his computer, he turned back to face her and said, “I am taking you to Greece.”

“Why?”

“To force Växborg to give me what I want.”

“And that is?”

“If he
loves
you like you think,” he said the word scornfully, “he will agree to a trade.”

“Trade?” She stared at him. “What trade?”

“You. For her.” Taking another sip of Scotch, he set the tumbler down on the table and looked at her evenly. “I will use you to force him to divorce his wife. His real wife.”

Rose stared at him. Slowly, she lifted her chin.

“I am his real wife,” she said quietly. “And nothing you can say will convince me otherwise.”

Xerxes frowned. “Is it really possible—” he searched her gaze with narrowed eyes “—that you did not know?”

She shook her head. “There is nothing to know! You’ve made a horrible mistake!”

“I couldn’t understand why he would pretend to marry you like this. But if you didn’t know he already
had a wife…” His eyes traced her face, her breasts, her body. He tilted his head curiously. “Did you give him some kind of ultimatum? Did he think pretending to marry you was the only way he could keep you in his bed?”

To
keep
her in Lars’s bed? Rose gaped at him. She’d never been in his bed—or any man’s! She was saving her virginity for her wedding night!

The thought made her suck in her breath.

Surely Lars wouldn’t have gone through such an elaborate wedding pretense just to get her into his bed…?

“I will do anything for you,”
Lars had said urgently last week, his pale blue eyes boring into hers.
“Anything, petal. This is torture. You must be mine.”

With a ragged breath, Rose pushed the memory aside. “Our marriage was real,” she said. “There is no other wife.”

Abruptly, Xerxes moved to the chair directly across from her. He leaned forward, and the knees of his long legs brushed the wide skirts of her wedding gown.

“I am telling you the truth, Rose,” he said quietly.

She stared up at him. His face was too brutally masculine to be conventionally handsome like Lars’s sleek blond features. Instead, Xerxes had a hard, square jawline that was already dark with shadow. He had an aquiline nose and dark eyebrows above black eyes as endless and luminous as the night. His hair was cut short, above his ear, but with a slightly mussed, wild wave.

As he leaned forward, looking into her eyes, she was aware of the warmth and strength of his body. Against her will, she was suddenly aware of the rhythm of his
breath, deep and in time with hers. She was aware of his scent, the masculine combination of some kind of woodsy cologne and musk and leather.

He was so close to her. So close.

With a ragged breath, she looked away.

“Who is she, then?” Rose said in a small voice. “His supposed first wife?”

“Laetitia Van Reyn.”

“Van Reyn?”

“You know the name?”

“There’s a wealthy family in San Francisco, mentioned often in the newspapers…”

“The same,” he said grimly.

“But the parents are dead,” Rose recalled. “Their only child is barely out of high school. I read she left for college.”

“She’s in a coma,” he said brutally. “No one knows she needs help. And I can’t find her and get her to a hospital.” His black gaze traced over her. “But you are his weakness. He will trade her. For you.”

She shook her head, dazed.

“You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. Except for…that.” He frowned as his eyes narrowed. “Take that off.”

“What?”

“Your dress. Take it off.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The wedding dress is an insult. To her. To me. Take it off. You are not a bride.”

“I was—am!”

“Take off that dress,” he growled. “Or I will take it off for you.”

“I have nothing else to wear!”

He gave her a cold smile. “That is not my problem.”

She rose to her feet in fury, lifting her chin. “I have the right to wear this. I am a bride, a married woman. You’re a liar!”

He swiftly rose to his feet, like a predator. “Call me that again, princess,” he said dangerously.

“Baroness,”
she corrected fiercely. She tossed her hair, glaring up at him with all the fury of her five feet, four inches. Her eyes glittered as she met him toe to toe. “And you, Xerxes Novros, are a
liar
!”